


The Remembering Man

by thegreyarea



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreyarea/pseuds/thegreyarea
Summary: On Stand Still Stay Silent Adventure 2, page 82, the team is trying to find out which way Onni went. One "nice" guy answers Mikkel with "What am I, the remembering man? Nobody remembers people from weeks ago!".So I tried to find who would be this man.This story, made for the short chapter break between Ch. 10 and 11, on the end of August 2020, is the result of my "search".It also connects with one info page, that I believe won't be hard to guess (Info pages are the "prompt" for this break contributions, and guessing the page that inspired each work is a kind of side game).This is also my contribution to commemorate the SSSS Forum's sixth anniversary and a way to express my gratitude to all the people that make its existence possible.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17





	The Remembering Man

**Author's Note:**

> The SSSS Forum can be found at: https://ssssforum.com/index.php  
> The thread related with the chapter break is here: https://ssssforum.com/index.php?topic=1137.0  
> Page 82 from the 2nd. Adventure is here: http://sssscomic.com/comic2.php?page=82

The fog is dense, the air still and the sea flat, making it impossible to distinguish water and sky at a distance.

All I can do is wait, alone in a grey, limitless void. To entertain myself I close my eyes and remember the good times.

Ah, _that_ boat trip. Yes, a nice memory! No fog, no danger, me and some friends on a yacht, laughter, smiles, drinks and a golden beach in the background. It was 11:42 and I was already on my third glass of white wine of the day. Still better, I thought, than the previous day, when I'd reached that mark at 11:17. There were no worries besides choosing the right line to convince Sarah that I was the right one. She was fantastic, as always, wearing yellow shorts and a blue top that...

My moment of escapism is interrupted by a soft tug on a fishing line. Something caught the hook! I just hope that it’s just a fish and not some twisted thing with long claws.

I pull the line with one hand and hold the spear in the other. I check to confirm if the gun is within reach, hoping not to use it. Staying silent is an important rule when you’re in a small boat in an ocean filled with monsters.

Here it comes! Yes, a fish! A nice, beautiful, fat cod!

Soon, it's in the ice box, along with 3 others. So far a nice day, but I know better. It can be just luck. Anyway, the odds are on my side. It's easy to tell, recalling the catch from the previous 72 days, that it's likely that four additional good-sized fish will be in my box before it's time to go home.

Home! that word raises so many memories... My _real_ home, in London, filled with comforts, the luxurious car that I drove to my office in a gleaming skyscraper in the City... I was swimming in money, could have all the food that I wanted! I even donated regularly to fight famine in underdeveloped countries, never sparing time to really think of how hard it was for some people to feed themselves and their families each day.

Of course the Rash changed that, as it changed almost everything. My home, car, family, friends... All lost in a few, mad months. Back then I considered myself lucky for being on vacation in Iceland, but now I don't know. My perfect memory, that once made me rich, now haunts me with all the misery and despair these terrible 17 months brought over what seemed to be the last remnants of mankind.

I look at the fish box. muttering "well, today, at least, we won't be short on food", and close my eyes, ready to return to the good times.

A distant sound shatters my concentration. An engine! Yes, it sounds like a small outboard. But it makes so much noise! What kind of madman does that? Wait, it stopped! Was I imagining things? I wait to be sure that nothing followed the noisy newcomer.

Ten minutes and no signs of danger. I grab the oars and start to row towards the noise, even while afraid that it might be a deadly mistake. "Fool, you should be rowing in the opposite direction" I mutter to myself.

It doesn’t take long for a darker silhouette to become visible through the fog. I stop rowing and let my boat drift closer to the small semi-rigid. I see no one inside, and ready my spear just in case. My boat stops just two meters away, and I can finally see a person lying down inside.

It's a man, and he seems in bad shape. Everybody has clear orders to avoid contact with any outsiders, and no one on Iceland would be running around with a small, noisy boat, so this guy must be an outsider, possibly even an infected one!

He notices me and tries to sit. I keep the spear pointed at him, but his eyes tell me that I won't have to use it. He raises a hand and speaks in heavily accented English. "Don't kill me! I'm not one of them!"

I lower the spear and grab an oar, readying myself to help the man.

He raises both hands. "Don't come! I... I may be infected!"

"What happened? Who are you and from where?"

"I'm Juan Valls, and I am... was... Chief Officer at the Harbour, a Chilean cargo ship."

"And where's your ship, Juan?"

"About one hundred miles South of here. It's so good to see another face! This is Iceland, right? How far we are from the coast?"

"Two miles, give or take."

"I... almost made it! But now it's all useless!" He looks at his left arm, covered with blood. "That damned seal, or whatever. It jumped inside the boat! I killed it but it bit me... All those months... to die so close to land..." He bends forward, whimpering.

I look around, a little nervous, but there's no sound, no movement. "Calm down, Juan. Tell me what happened."

"Oh man, that's a long story... We were returning from Cape Town, ten months ago. They were evacuating the city, their defenses were crumbling... Most survivors already left in two cruise ships, and we followed them. Our ship didn't have time to refuel, but we left anyway. They promised to send another ship to help us, but it never came." He takes a deep breath. "After two days our fuel was gone and we were adrift in the middle of the ocean. We couldn't use the radio, there was too much interference. All we could do was wait. Endless days and weeks. The currents carried the Harbour away. We had water, and food, lots of food, so we..."

"Wait! You had _lots_ of food? How?"

"That's our cargo, friend. Dozens and dozens of containers, all filled with food. All the South Africans could recover and send to Punta Arenas."

"Punta Arenas?"

"Actual capital city of Chile, pal. The only safe area in South America. Or it was when we left. But we were very organized and had many shamans to defend us from the bad spirits. I believe we still resist..." A jolt of pain makes him pause. "The currents took us back to Africa, and then North across the Atlantic towards the Caribbean, and we had hope to run into shallow waters and maybe find some island, but a storm pushed us back, and we kept going North."

"You didn't find anyone on the radio?"

"Sometimes we talked, but the guys on land always seemed way worse than us. Some wanted to join us! We crossed with a few ships, but they were abandoned or worse, filled with monsters. We eventually ran out of power, too, and our only hope were two boats like this. One night two sailors stole one and left, trying to reach Florida. They left a note promising help... I don't think they made it."

"And the rest of your crew? What happened?"

"One day the captain decided to fish for some fresh food. Eight months had passed and everybody agreed with that. We used a crane to put a large net on the water, but instead of fish we got some... I can't describe it! So many arms, and eyes and mouths! I was the only one at the bridge, and saw it climb the cable and start slaughtering all the others on the main deck. They fought, and managed to push the monster back to the sea, but the ones that survived were all injured. They are all dead now... And I don't want to talk about it."

I can see he will soon join his crew-mates. He’s losing a lot of blood. But I have to press on. "So, where's your boat? How did you get here?"

"I can navigate, you know? I'm an officer!" Another jolt of pain crosses his face. "I saw that today the ship would be at its closest point from land since we left Cape Town, and decided to take my chance... It seems that I was right... but it was all useless."

"It doesn't have to be, friend!" He looks at me, suddenly interested. "You may not save yourself, but you can save a lot of people. We are very low on food in Iceland, and if we could reach your ship... If you tell me the ship's position we could salvage it!"

"I could tell you our coordinates. I updated them every time I had a chance to see the stars... I will miss the stars, they are so pretty..."

I see that he's going to pass out. I take a small fish from the box and throw it at his face. It works!

"Hey, _cabrón_! What are you doing?"

He's speaking too loud! "Shhh! I'm just keeping you awake! Please, tell me where the ship is!" I stop. Did I hear something? I gesture at him to stay silent. Yes, there it is, something is moving among the fog! We both stand still in our boats, hearing. Again, louder! Whatever it is, it's getting closer!

"We must go! I will throw you a rope and..."

"Shut up, man! No way are you towing me behind you! We would both die, and I'm already dead!" He points at the gun on my side. "Give me that, and I will slow that thing down while you row to land."

"Are you sure?"

"Let me die fighting, _hermano_ , and you may have a chance."

I can't argue with him, so I throw him the gun.

"I'll tell you the coordinates. Can you remember them?"

A faint smile crosses my face. "You can be sure of that."

\---

I'm rowing as fast as I can. I can hear it coming but there's nothing to be seen trough the dense fog. Can't I be just bored and alone in that grey void like an hour ago?

Somewhere among the fog an area becomes darker. _It_ is getting closer, and Juan remains quiet. Did he pass out? All I can do is keep rowing and ignore the complaints of my aching arms.

The dark area gets more defined, a suggestion of great limbs, or tentacles? I remember the giant squid in Verne's _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea._ I loved that book when I was a child! Funny how even with my memory I spent decades without recalling it, only to do so in the moment of my death... I sort of see the beast now. Those are, indeed, articulated limbs. It's too close! There's no point in rowing, so I grab my spear and ready myself for a final fight.

A shot! And another! The beast shakes and stops. Slowly it turns, its great mass creating a wave that almost topples me out. Two more shots! And shouting, in Spanish! It accelerates in Juan's direction and I know it's my turn to get back to the oars.

I row with all my strength, feeling my heart beats like crazy. "Bad time for a heart attack!" I manage to speak while I push even harder. More shots come, more shouting, and then a scream, and silence. I keep rowing and rowing among the fog, always waiting for that dark shadow to arrive. I think there will be no fight. I'm just too tired.

A rasping sound and a jolt tell me that my boat hit the beach. Now, legs, it's your turn!

I jump to the beach and start to run. Everybody knows that some beasts can come out of the water and keep hunting over land, at least for a while.

A crashing sound comes, but I don't look back. The boat, it just got my boat! I just keep running out of the beach and up the hill. I arrive at the top and can suddenly see the sun! I'm out of the fog!

I can barely breathe but manage to walk, reaching some rocks that look like a good cover. Falling on the ground I turn to feel the warmth. Not even in that yacht, years ago, had the sun felt so good!

\---

"And that, son, is how it happened, exactly the way your great-grandfather told me, 42 years and 3 days ago, in this very place." His eyes are open so wide! He looks at the port below. From the tower we can see dozens of boats in waters turned gold, reflecting the morning sun. It's a beautiful view.

"So that's the beginning of the legend of the Remembering Man?"

"Yes. He did great things after that, and helped a lot of people. But first he had to convince the authorities that his story was real. Back in those days everybody was low on fuel, food and morale, and no one wanted to risk crossing 160 kilometres of open sea on the word of one man alone." I urge him to sit by my side.

He sits, and smiles. "But he impressed them by listing the names of _all_ players on Iceland's national soccer team 3 years before, a team that didn't even qualify for the European Cup! Grandma once told me that part!"

"Yes, yes. That convinced them to take the risk. The ship was there, and all that food saved the lives of thousands."

"What else did he do in Iceland?"

"Well, after that he got involved in many things. But the one he cared for the most was the SSSS Forum he created in Reykjavik."

He looks surprised. I thought someone would have told this story before.

"You mean, like the one we have here?"

"Just like that! He believed that people needed a place to talk, exchange experiences and make friends. He decided to do it all on paper, following the model of some Internet Forum he used to visit. You know what the Internet was, right?"

"Of course! It was cool! I've heard in school that there's a plan to recreate it!"

Oh, youthful enthusiasm! "Let's see if we can do that. It won't be easy. They had resources before the Rash that we can only dream about and..."

"Dad, did the Icelandic Forum work like ours? I love to go there! All those boards filled with papers with messages! And the moderators, always checking everything..."

I remember the first time I took him to the Forum, his joy while running around the great building to find the children's room. "Yes, it worked just like ours, with lists and tags above the boards. And the moderators are fine, but don't forget the Admins. They don't appear much, but they are working behind the scenes, always making sure that things run smoothly." He nods and I pull him closer to me. He's so warm!

"Anyway, your great grandfather created the Forum and named it after the First Rule, that he always thought was very cool. He ran it all by himself for some time, but even with his memory it started to become too complex, and he gathered a team of volunteers to help him. After 6 years he felt that the Forum was just fine and his presence wasn't required anymore, and dedicated himself to other things."

He raises from the bench. Being still was not his thing, that much is clear.

"And then he created the Chile thread in the Forum! Grandma also told me that part! And the thread was empty for almost a year, until great grandma left him a message!"

"That's it! Your great grandma also came from Chile, all alone in a sailboat. But nobody believed in her stories. Nobody but him, of course."

"But why did she try to reach Iceland alone?"

I rise and walk to the other corner of the tower. From there we have a great view of Punta Arenas, including the Forum building and our house next to it.

"I wish you had known her. She was amazing!" I recall her face, all her faces along the years. I miss her. "She was familiar with Iceland and its people. When the Rash began spreading and Iceland closed its borders she was sure that it survived. She also believed that connecting the surviving branches of Humanity was of uttermost importance. Don't you agree?"

He ponders on that for a while. "I think it is."

"But they had no contact with Iceland, so most people didn't believe they still existed. And the ones that did were too afraid to try. Grandma already had experience with sailing long distances alone, so she decided to go and nobody was able to stop her. And she did reach Iceland, somehow undetected by the military."

"What happened then?"

"Grandfather believed her and used all his money and influence to get two nice boats, a few friends, and sail back to Chile, because he thought she was right. Everybody else considered them crazy, but the Remembering Man had everybody's respect and eventually set sail six months later."

"And I bet their voyage was crazy!"

"Yes it was. Just one boat survived, and it sunk at the mouth of the Magellan strait. Ironically it was Remembering Man’s turn to be saved by a fisherman... But let's get to the point. I brought you here to tell you that I'm leaving."

He looks at me, suddenly very serious. "Leaving? Where are you going? Wait, I know! Iceland? That's it, right? Can I go with you? Please!"

"Not this time, smart boy. I'm sorry." I look him in the eyes. "The government always refused to allow another expedition. They considered it a mad plan and a waste of valuable resources. After decades we finally managed to convince them to let us go and fulfil your great grandma’s dream, but you are still too young... And I can't wait, or they may change their minds. Do you understand why I have to go?"

He suddenly looks so mature. "Yes, father. But isn't it too dangerous?"

"I won't lie. It is. But don't fear, son. I do intend to return. We have good boats and people, and there will be three shamans on each boat to ensure the good spirits look out for us."

Now he looks sad. It makes me feel the need to justify this, particularly to myself. "We must try, son. 91 years passed since the Rash hit us, and back in Iceland they must still think that they’re alone. They _must_ know about us, and about Japan. We all have to learn and work with each other, however hard it seems."

"I'll miss you!"

"You have your brothers and sisters, and beside that you inherited our family’s special memory. You just have to close your eyes to be here with me again, and you know that it’s the same for me, right? We will never forget each other."

"Dad, even if I didn't have a special memory you know I'd always remember you!"

\---

I open my eyes and feel a tear run down my face. Sometimes I wonder if our special memory is a blessing or a curse...

But we must move forward! I climb to the deck. Everybody is busy, and on the horizon a thin line of land is visible.

Some sailors are waving from the deck of our Icelandic escort. I wave back. They were so chocked yesterday, but now it seems that they accepted well that they are not alone anymore.

It was good to discover that the Forum is still going strong. I'm still surprised, however, to find that the Remembering Man is still a reference, and even part of some expressions that became widespread among the Nordic people, reaching as far as Bornholm. Grandpa would have been amused.

Today we will be arriving at the quarantine facility. It will be a long, boring wait, but in a few more days the news will reach everybody on Iceland and the other Nordic nations. A whole new chapter on our adventure will open up.

As Grandpa said, the greatest memories are those yet to come.

**Author's Note:**

> As always I'd like to thank Minna for creating such an amazing Universe, and Mar, my dear extraordinaire proofreader, for her patience and invaluable help.
> 
> All characters and events are fiction, any resemblance with reality is coincidence.  
> Places, distances and sea currents, however, are as real as I could research.  
> There are a few container ships with "Harbour" in their name, but the one in this story was inspired by the "One Harbour", from Chile, that you can see here: https://www.vesselfinder.com/vessels/ONE-HARBOUR-IMO-9302152-MMSI-372367000 
> 
> This story reflects my personal headcanon that there are other survivors around the World, they just weren't able to make contact with the Nordics...  
> Yet.


End file.
